Chapter 10

Chapter Ten

W hen Dallas was ten, his grandfather died. He rolled out of bed one day in July, took exactly three steps, and keeled over. The man had only just entered his fifties, but he'd had a passion for the kind of living that's hard on a body. He liked his booze, late nights, pills, and smokes almost as much as he liked his women.

Which was a lot.

To some, including Dallas's grandmother, Sully Henhawk was a no-good son of a bitch who didn't care much for hard work, had an overabundance of charm, and wasn't afraid to use it. He was sometimes selfish and always late, but to Dallas, he was everything. His son Brandon, Dallas's father, worked for the Bridgestones sunup till sundown and wasn't around much, so it was his Sully who'd taught Dallas to hunt and fish and play poker. He would take him camping on the mountain and tell tall tales that were so far from the truth, they almost sounded real. He didn't judge. He loved big and hard and wasn't afraid to show it. He might have been a crap husband, but he was the best kind of grandfather there was. That perfect blend of indulgence and love meant to spoil.

When he passed, Dallas's grandmother had let Dallas take whatever he wanted from their home. Said whatever was left she was donating to the Salvation Army or throwing in the trash. Dallas had claimed his grandfather's special box that was kept in the shed. It was filled with his wood carving tools, his knives and gougers, the bevel blades and such. For a good long while, Dallas had kept the box on a shelf in his bedroom; he had no interest in carving wood, but it had meant something to his grandfather, and it's why he'd taken it.

Then, one day when he'd been fifteen or so, he'd grabbed the box off that shelf, mostly because he was bored and curious. He'd begun carving crude figures, terrible stuff he'd tossed in the fire, but Dallas kept at it, and it became more than a hobby or a way to pass the time. Carving wood, making something out of a block of mahogany or butternut, not only gave him pleasure, but it also soothed the friction inside him. Slowed down the noise in his head.

Calmed his soul.

Usually.

Tonight, he couldn't catch his rhythm. Couldn't concentrate. He was making a mess of things. He swore and set down his tool. He might as well start drinking. There wasn't much else to do.

One of his horses, Bacon, knickered softly. Dallas got up and stretched his arms over his head, then rolled his shoulders, hoping to alleviate the tension in his muscles. He glanced through the barn door toward the house. It wasn't the first time he wished he'd listened to Benton and had a hot tub installed on the back deck.

"Damn," he muttered, walking over to the stall. A hot soak would feel like heaven about now. Bacon's head hung out, and he gave him a scratch. The two-year-old colt was a beauty. One that had been sent to auction at six months, without his mother, and would have ended up at a Mexican meat packing plant if not for Angel Simms rescuing him and bringing him back to Taz Pullman's place. By chance, Dallas had been at the ranch when she unloaded the young colt, and he'd taken him home after quarantine.

Bacon nudged him, and Dallas shook his head. "I'm out of carrots, bud."

The horse's ears pricked forward, and Dallas turned, the sound of an engine now piercing the quiet. He frowned. As far as he knew, he hadn't made plans with Lenora. She was still pissed at him for the way he'd behaved the last time they'd been together. Not that he blamed her. He'd been an asshole.

Tiredly, he ran a hand over his beard. When had his life become complicated? He liked things simple. Black and white. Right and wrong. Company when he wanted it, which wasn't often.

"Shit," he muttered, stepping away from the stall. He sure as hell wasn't in the mood for talking. Headlights cracked open the night sky and lit up his house before the engine was cut and they shut off. He heard a door open and close, and as his mood darkened, he leaned back against the stall, eyes on the doorway. He needed to get rid of Lenora without turning into a bastard. After the last time, it was the least he could do.

He would end things. Let her down gently.

Bacon snorted, sensing his mood, and he glanced at the horse. "Right?"

But the woman who appeared in the doorway wasn't Lenora. Not by a long shot. Because this woman who stood just inside the barn took his breath away. It wasn't just one thing either. It was all of it. Her hair. Her eyes. The shape of her cheek, the curve of her waist. Her small ears, feminine hands. He wondered about the tattoo. Was it still there? Or had she removed it when things ended so badly all those years ago?

His eyes took everything in, and by the time they sent the information to his brain, his body had already reacted. His heartbeat took off. His muscles clenched. His gut tightened.

All this, and they hadn't spoken a word.

"You're not at the party," she said slowly, coming inside.

"Apparently not."

"Why?" Vivian stopped a few feet from his bench.

"Wasn't in the mood."

"Huh." She swiped at her bottom lip with her tongue. "Me either."

Was she trying to get under his skin? "What do you want, Viv?" He watched as she walked over to his bench and picked up the piece of wood he'd been working on.

She ignored his question and studied the piece in her hands. At the moment, it was a medium size block of nothing. He'd carved out a few sections, his aim to make a large family tree that Benton wanted for his office. Her brow furrowed as she traced the lines with her blood-red nails, and when she finally looked up at him, her eyes were luminous.

"I like that you still work with wood."

He said nothing, but, restless, shoved his hands into the front pockets of his jeans, then took a few steps back. There, the shadows hid half his face. Gently, she set down the piece and wandered over to Bacon. She was close now, and he inhaled that fresh, clean floral scent that was all Vivian. It was her shampoo. Something he hadn't smelled in a long time. It made him think of other things. Of another time and place when the two of them were nothing but tangled limbs, naked skin, and fused mouths.

"What are you doing here?" he asked, his voice sharper than he intended.

"He's beautiful," she whispered before turning to Dallas.

"I asked you a question."

She held his gaze for a few seconds and then made a soft sound. The kind that had all kinds of shit happening in his gut.

"Do you ever think about us?" She licked that damn mouth of hers again. "Of how good we were together?"

"Being good in bed is one thing. Being bad at being a couple is another thing altogether."

"We were young."

He nodded. "Too young to know better."

A ghost of a smile lit up her face. "Do you remember the hoedown at Gatlin's Ranch? I think I was sixteen."

"You and Becky Smith walked in wearing the tightest T-shirts and smallest denim skirts I ever saw on a girl."

"And the tallest boots." She laughed, and the sound hit him in the chest, like a memory pulled out of the blue. "God, we thought we were the hottest young things on the planet."

"You two caused a brawl."

"Mathew Banks tried to put his hand up my skirt."

"He did."

"You made him sorry, and then you brought me home."

He was silent because he was busy with the remembering. Being young and horny wasn't out of the norm for a boy on the cusp of manhood. But being young and horny for your best friend's sister made a guy step back and think.

Or at least he'd tried. Vivian had made it impossible. That had been the first night he'd had a taste, the first night he'd done more than he should have with her, and from then on, he'd been a goner.

"What do you want, Viv?" He wasn't a young boy on the cusp anymore. He was a man who was riding dangerously close to a line he swore he'd never again cross.

She inhaled, which in turn made her chest rise. It took everything in him to keep his gaze above her neck. When she slowly let her breath out, he relaxed a bit, though he kept his distance. Something was going on here, and he didn't trust himself.

He trusted Vivian less.

She opened her mouth to say something, but then closed it shut just as quick. She turned around and took a few steps back toward his worktable, then paused, her fingers trailing over that piece of wood again.

For several moments, neither of them moved or said a word, and just when Dallas felt that anger inside him expand and get ugly, she faced him, looking so damn lost and vulnerable, it vanished, and something else took its place.

"I haven't had sex in over two years." Her words were clear, her gaze direct.

At first, Dallas didn't know how to react or what to say, so he kept quiet and watched her warily, but when she didn't elaborate, he found his voice.

"Why are you telling me this?"

"Do you want to know why?"

What did he say to that? The thought of another man touching her still made him crazy. "Your sex life isn't my business."

"No," she replied softly. "I suppose it's not, but aren't you curious why?"

"Say what you came to say, Vivian. Then leave." Fed up, he moved toward her, thinking that she'd take the hint.

"Two years," she repeated. "No sex."

"I'm not playing your game." What the fuck was she up to?

"I got tired of mediocre sex. Tired of the disconnect. Of trying to find that someone who mattered. So, I stopped. I threw myself into work and charities and the gym. I tried to fill up this big hole inside me. But it was never full. It was never satisfied." She took a step toward him. "It was like I was chasing something, and no matter how hard I ran, I couldn't find it." She waited a beat or two. "We were good together."

"We were equally bad," he replied through clenched teeth, because, God help him, he was turned on. His body was strung tight, and his dick was fighting to get out of his pants.

"Yes," she agreed. "We were. But we were also young and dumb and ruled by emotion. We're all grown up now." Her gaze dropped below his belt. "Some parts more than others."

His blood was hot. His body fired up with need. She'd just poked the bear, and he couldn't see this ending well for either of them.

"Viv." But it was all he got out because she took those last steps until she stood an inch from him. Her scent was in every breath he inhaled, and damned if that didn't ramp up things even more.

"I wasn't sure what I was doing coming up here tonight. At first, I thought I had to see you. Thought I needed to say some things. And I will, eventually. But now…" She licked her bottom lip again. "Now I think those things can wait. Now all I can think about is the sex."

She put her hand on his chest, and the animal inside him roared.

"I want all the sex. Right now. With you." She leaned into him. "No strings."

He worked to unclench his jaw, because if they did this, he needed to make things real clear. Christ, he was out of his mind to consider this. And yet…

"Just sex," he said gruffly.

"Just sex," she whispered as she moved her hands up his chest. "I do have one rule, though, and I expect you to honor it."

Her mouth glistened, and he'd bet his left hand she tasted like cherries. This was a bad idea. "What's that?" he asked.

"While we're having all the sex, it's only with me. There won't be anyone else."

That was an easy yes considering there was no one in the area he'd look at twice. Not with this on the table.

"I can do that," he managed to say, swearing silently when one of her hands found its way to the front of his jeans. She undid the button and would have taken his cock out, but he grabbed her hand and held it tight. "One more thing," he said, watching her closely.

"What?" She was breathless.

"My rule."

"What is it?"

"The no-strings thing is hard and fast for me. We're not getting involved outside of this. Understand?"

"You don't like me very much."

"No." He reached down for her. "But we don't need to like each other to fuck."

He knew his words were harsh and unkind, but it was his way of giving her an out. And maybe a part of him wanted her to be insulted enough that she kicked him in the ass and walked out the door.

She didn't.

Vivian Bridgestone reached for him instead. She tugged on his zipper, and just like that, Dallas crossed the line.

What in the actual fuck.